


Knowing is Half the Battle

by Capucine



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Tim's desperation, when he believes he's found Bruce and Bruce has told him he can go die, that no one cares about him--he decides to take a drastic move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A single thought fluttered through his mind:

_Where is he?_

The pain, the despair, the agony, had given way to mere numbness. Mere cold shock.

Bruce had to know where he was. He knew. Tim had no doubt. He teetered on the edge of the Wayne Building, dressed in his suit because why not look nice, right?

He would need all the help he could get in a bit. He knew what people who splattered on the sidewalks looked like, after all. 

There was a reason words like splatter and pancake were used to describe them.

It was cold, or it had been last he'd checked. His fingers didn't have feeling, the cell phone that hadn't rung or dinged dropped on the gritty, scraping rooftop. He'd taken off his shoes—a thing that helped him grip the edge.

He should join his friends. The ones who'd gone on—Bart, Kon, and others. His father. His mother.

_The good die young_ , he thought, and it didn't draw a laugh or even the thought that it was funny, but he did think, _does that mean I'm good?_

He was broken—and he wouldn't hurt anyone by leaving, clearly. Dick had kicked him out, practically ripping the Robin persona from him. He had chosen Damian. 

Damian certainly didn't give a fuck. He was delighted. He'd offered him a spare Batgirl costume, because he was clearly very pleased--

And Dick didn't care.

Bruce was supposed to. He was alive, without a doubt—Tim knew. He'd been talking to him for more than an hour—very terse, very secretive and unwilling conversation. Like Bruce always was, in some ways. 

It had gotten strange towards the end, though. Bruce just quietly breathed into the phone, as Tim got increasingly desperate to hear from him. Maybe he said things that made Bruce see him as weak.

In any case, Bruce said, 'Don't call this number again.'

Tim had been worked up into a panic at that point, saying, 'Bruce, I'd rather die than lose you!' Stupid, stupid emotional shit.

_Then do it._

Those words were ringing in his skull again.

He'd sent texts, pleading like a stupid child for Bruce to come. That he was on top of Wayne Tower, that he would wait. 

He'd gotten nothing.

So, in a desperate gamble—and the truth, honestly—he said he'd throw himself off if Bruce didn't come.

The message read, 'Seen. 3:02 AM.'

And it was nearing five thirty in the morning, still pitch dark due to the time of year.

If he hadn't thought he'd hurt someone, Tim thought with detachment, sore eyes blinking, he would have done this long ago.

His calves were finally beginning to ache, perched there like a bird. Like the Robin he was not. Would never be again.

He'd just wanted to stay until he was ready—ready to go to college, move on. Solve Bruce's supposed death. Make sure things were in order, and then move on with his life. He wasn't in it for a lifelong career—few could do that kind of thing anyway. 

He knew what it was like to fall—Dick tended to consider it flying, but he knew it was just falling. Falling while cheating death, cutting it off before it was finished.

Well.

He would finish it this time, he supposed.

He rocked to a standing position, and new set of trembling attacked his body. He knew all it would take was one step off—he didn't have his grappling hook. He'd taken the stairs. He no way of breaking such a long fall. Of walking away unharmed.

Probably little chance of walking away at all.

Just one small step.

One.

And he was trying, willing his feet to move. They didn't want to.

He sighed, trying to relax his body to do it. A clinical approach was what was needed. Unclench the muscles. Even the breaths. Roll his neck. Just calm down, and take the step.

He had a brief flash of worry, of _someone might care_ , but he dismissed it. No one gave a fuck.

And off. He fell.

And he knew instantly he did not want to die.

Adrenaline struck him like a freight train, like energy drinks on steroids, and he tried to at least point his feet towards the ground—flat, arms to the side, straight as a rod—and he knew it couldn't be enough—he would die—he would splatter--

He was hit again—but by a person.

He was wheezing for breath from the hit, but he found himself unable to breathe for new reasons when he saw who it was who had him tucked in their arm like even the slightest loosening would lose him forever.

His whole body shook as he looked up at Dick, Dick whose expressions were ranging between agonized and fiercely protective. He found he himself could not make words, could not express anything.

When Dick reached a ledge, he practically cradled Tim, holding him tightly. “Oh god. Oh god, Tim, oh god, _why?_ ”

Tim sort of gave a stuttering breath, unsure of how to respond.

Dick was holding him as tightly as if he was the key to saving everyone he loved. “Timmy, it's okay, you're safe, I promise.”

Tim just stared, a sort of chilly feeling in his brain seeming to shut it down. 

Dick tapped his comm, saying, “I found him, thank god. I found him before he did it.”

But he did do it. He just didn't succeed, Tim thought a bit stupidly. Dick was warm even through the Nightwing suit, though, and he sort of focused on that.

“I don't think it's entirely out of his system—you got Damian, right? Is it flushed out?”

What was going on?

Tim strained, and he could hear Jason's-- _Jason's_ \--voice, responding with, “Yeah. Kid nearly died from blood loss, though.”

Why would Damian almost die from blood loss? And what did it have to do with him?

Dick seemed to notice his confusion, and tightened his grip more. “It's okay, Timmy, I promise. I'm going to take you back home, safe and sound. You're not yourself right now.”

“Who else would I be?” Tim said, a bit more flatly, like he was dead, than he'd intended.

Dick looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “It's okay, Timmy.”

He literally carried him, which was okay, because Tim didn't know if his legs would support him at that point, the way they were shivering.

The Batmobile. Tim felt heartsick as he inhaled the familiar scent—it was an instant reminder of Bruce. Dick buckled him into the passenger side—and reluctantly put him in handcuffs, which Tim probably should have reacted to more, but he just sort of looked at Dick.

“I don't...I don't want you jumping out or something, Tim. I'm sorry,” Dick said, that pained look in his eyes.

Tim blinked. “Why?”

That just made his expression more pained. “Because you're my brother and I love you. Okay?”

“No, you don't,” Tim responded, a sort of blank, factual tone. This was the truth. Dick didn't love him.

He could see Dick's hands clench on the steering wheel, as he said, “Of course I love you, Tim. What you think happened, it isn't...you're not seeing things right, okay?”

“Yes, I am. You threw me out, everyone turned their backs on me, and Bruce told me to go die--”

“No! No one did any of that, Tim, I swear to god,” Dick said, a bit disturbed in his tone. Also a bit frantic to prove it. “Bruce is gone and he would never tell you to do that. I did not throw you out--”

“Yes, you did, and he is alive. I was talking to him on the phone for hours.”

Dick peered at Tim's face, saying slowly, “Tim. Your phone connection's been cut off for the whole day this has been going on. You're under the influence of a drug we don't quite understand right now. Whatever you think happened, it didn't.”

Tim stared back. That couldn't be the case. 

“It's...a modified sort of fear gas. Babs is figuring it out. Damian got hit with it too—they were trying to--” Dick almost seemed to growl. “Target our youngest members. The ones they were sure would hurt us the most.”

“It doesn't feel like fear gas.” Tim definitely didn't feel terror beyond belief. He just felt dead.

“I know. It seems, with you, it accessed your greatest fear—not like, pure terror, but what would devastate you the most. I'm sorry, Tim, we should have caught it sooner. It made up memories for you, on top of the...hallucination with Bruce,” Dick said, and Tim could see he was hurting.

“Am I...still Robin?” Tim asked, staring dully.

“Yes. We had a discussion shortly before about you giving up the cape to Damian—but I didn't force it, I swear. You weren't entirely against it, actually,” Dick said, giving him an empathetic look. “I think you know that Damian's doing what he can.”

No, he didn't. A sort of hopeless revulsion went through him, the knowledge of being utterly hated.

But they arrived back, in the Batcave, and of all people, Jason was there, hood off and watching Damian in the medical area with a frown.

Damian was a sight. Pale as hell, covered in bandages—mostly along the wrists.

Cuffed to the bed on all four limbs.

Tim was starting to think maybe it was true.

“Hey, Timbers.” Jason looked up solemnly.

Tim nodded silently.

Dick got him sitting on the bed, and sat with an arm around his shoulders. “You're safe now. I promise.”

And Tim wasn't sure he was right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is not cured yet--and is not sure he needs to be.

Damian would let out an almost whimper sound every so often, struggle a little against his bonds, and then Jason would tap a button and he’d sink back into sleep.

Dick had a look on his face like he knew how wrong that was, but didn’t know what else to do.

Tim was still cuffed, but Dick was carefully working him out of the suit. Clearly intending to either put him in pajamas or a hospital gown type getup.

Or leaving him naked. Unlikely, but Tim probably shouldn’t rule it out, with how strange this night was.

It was a nice suit, Tim thought to himself kind of numbly, as Dick carefully cut through it.

“You know, if you uncuffed me, you wouldn’t have to destroy it,” he commented, voice coming out more dead than he’d realized it would.

Dick hesitated, and he was down at Tim’s belt, undoing it, and he murmured, “I’m only destroying the top. That’s all that’s needed.”

“It’s a matching suit.”

And now Dick’s hands were clenching his belt, seemingly unable to move. Wouldn’t look at him either. His whole body was frozen, and in the weird numb state that Tim was in, he found it difficult to determine what feeling was playing across Dick’s face, what part of it he could see.

It would be far more awkward if Tim could feel awkwardness right now, he supposed.

Jason came over at that point, prying Dick’s fingers off with a “I’ll handle this, you go,” that seemed far less antagonistic than Tim remembered. He had Tim’s belt out within a second, and summarily shucked off his pants. It was so fast Tim seemed to blink and his pants were gone.

He was pretty sure he was supposed to be afraid of Jason. Red Hood and all that. He had tried to kill him, after all.

Well…Tim had too. Tried to kill himself.

The fact that he was laughing did not seem to sit well with Jason, whose green eyes landed on him with something like concern. “Timbers, I need you to breathe. Remember where we’re at.”

And now he was crying, he realized, a surge of emotion in his chest as he wished he had died for wanting to die. And that was a very messed up, messy feeling, like someone else had thrown up in his chest.

The fact he was pretty much naked seemed really hard to register, but it became more apparent as Jason gathered him close, murmuring, “Hey, kid, hey, you’re okay, we have you. I promise.”

Was that good? Tim wasn’t certain, as warm as Jason was, as comforting as the texture of his leather coat against his cheek was. Dick was here again, hand stroking through his hair in a way that awakened tingles in his scalp, and he didn’t want to feel, but he couldn’t fight it, and the sobs got harder, more choked. More painful to force out but impossible to stop.

Like when you had to cough with broken ribs.

He’d almost done it. And the despair, the fear that all of this was as bad as he’d thought, was crushing him. He hadn’t fixed anything, hadn’t been about to fix anything—and that left him trapped, one space moved back than even where he’d been.

He thought he felt Dick press a kiss, of all things, to the back of his skull, and murmur, in a voice that sounded like it was a challenge to get out, “It’s okay, Baby Bird. It’s gonna be okay. It’s the toxin, and you’re gonna be okay. I promise. You can’t see it now, but it’s gonna be okay.”

And for another unfathomable reason, Jason held him tighter.

He was confused, but he didn’t know what to do about it, so he just cried. Cried until he was tired and Dick was putting fresh underwear, his Superman pajama pants, and a hospital gown on him and so carefully tucking him in.

He felt small and hollow and stupid. He was lying down in a bed when he felt like he should be up but couldn’t muster the energy or will to do so.

Dick and Jason kept murmuring back and forth, Jason actually uttering a curse whenever it seemed that Babs hadn’t synthesized a cure yet. Hadn’t figured out how it worked.

And that was when suspicion started to creep in. Neither of them were this nice to him—well, yeah, Dick, but he _kissed_ him, and it was just too surreal. This might very well be a trap.

And was Damian trapped too? If he was, Tim should probably free him. Probably. He wasn’t sure, the idea swirling around his head like someone trying to combine chocolate powder and milk. He wasn’t sure how big the trick was, though, if _everything_ wasn’t real, or only some things, or it was mind control on their part, and so on.

Slowly, carefully, Tim eased the IV out of his arm, a difficult feat with cuffs on, and managed to put a sheet against it so he didn’t bleed out. It hurt, of course, but that was nothing. They had drugged Damian, and they were probably going to drug him too—might have already.

He took care to look sleepy and possibly not awake whenever they came near or looked in his direction.

Dick would sometimes smooth his hair back from his head, as if sure he was sleeping, and maybe murmur something that Tim couldn’t quite make out. Sounded strangely anguished and affectionate, he supposed.

He…liked the petting, he guessed. But it wasn’t probably Dick. Or Dick in his right mind. Or something.

He was waiting for the signs of Damian coming awake again, ready to spring up any second now.

And there. Damian’s eyelids twitching, Jason and Dick on the other side of the room, he could reach him first, no doubt.

Tim was already up and across the room by the time Damian made a sound—and then Dick and Jason did, sounds of shock.

“Tim, no!”

The cuffs were all released instantly, the code being the same. Tim ripped out Damian’s IV, figuring that the kid wouldn’t notice that pain much, and scooped him up with his cuffed arms.

“Tim! Stop!”

He was still strong, still capable of carrying Damian and running—and the kid was clinging, actually, strangely enough. The instant Dick got a hand on Tim’s shoulder, Damian had bit it.

Tim smiled grimly as he sprinted to the nearest vehicle. _Expect the unexpected._ These two clearly weren’t the older brothers he knew at all.

They were inside as both Jason and Dick slammed into the side of this batmobile. Dick was shouting a code, but Tim quickly told the computer: “Override code: Cardinal 66.”

Damian was breathing hard, eyes glazed as he blinked and looked around the interior of the Batmobile in confusion.

It would clear soon enough, and Tim revved the engine.

He could see Jason and Dick jump back, shouting at him, but it sounded cacophonous rather than a reason to stay. He focused on the way out, using the remote from inside the car to open the door. One last cry of, “Tim, _please_ \--“ was all he heard before he shot out.

The car went faster than he expected, somehow, and he was blinking in the early morning light. He drove without much thinking about where he was going.

But one thing was for sure: neither of them were safe back there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, decided to update. Inspiration just kinda struck.
> 
> As for Tim managing to get away from Dick and Jason--both the element of surprise and the fact he really isn't physically hurt were on his side. It was a split second too late kinda deal on their part.
> 
> Plus, they didn't want to hurt them, and Damian had no such compunctions.
> 
> But is Tim seeing things wrong entirely? That is the question. :)
> 
> And things are gonna get messy with him and Dami for sure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where exactly can Tim and Damian go?

It was pretty hard to drive with handcuffs on. 

This was what Tim thought about as he steered around the street, brain racing for somewhere to go. He had no friends, he didn’t know who he could trust at all.

His mind was sorting through people. Closest were family wise would be Babs, St—no, dead, dead, Cass, Helena, Alfred, Selina...and then branching out, Superman, The Flash, Wonder Woman, so on and so forth.

He didn’t know who he could trust out of any of those people, though.

Damian made a whine next to him, straightening out some and holding his wrists to his chest. It had looked _very_ thorough and lucky he was alive. From the way his hands didn’t seem to be entirely cooperating, he may have gotten some tendons, which hurt like a motherfucker.

Excuse Tim’s French.

Damian’s hazy eyes landed on him, and he croaked out, “Drake. Are you with them?”

“Depends on who ‘they’ are, but probably not. I seem to be standing alone,” Tim responded, voice surprisingly calm.

Damian seemed to consider this. “My grandfather might attempt to recruit you, but I trust he would fail due to your obstinacy and your pathetic willingness to die. Otherwise, there is not a lot of hope for you.”

This seemed to be a pronouncement of trust, and Tim’s gaze flickered to Damian’s wrists, before he said, a rather flat tone, “So, I guess we’re the same on that front.”

Damian’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

Maybe Tim had stepped over a line. He wasn’t sure.

“Where should we go?” Tim asked without much thinking about who he was asking. Just a sort of uncertainty about where they should go, but not much alarm about it.

Damian said, “We should go somewhere they know nothing about. Don’t you have any secret places? I was under the impression you were supposed to be excellent at planning.” His eyes ticked to the steering wheel. “I can drive, if your hands are giving you difficulty.”

Tim snorted. “I’m not letting you drive.”

He almost added, ‘I don’t have a death wish,’ but then, he wasn’t certain that was true. 

Maybe he was.

Maybe he didn’t have a death wish. He kind of wanted to be dead, but he still remembered the plummet, the way the fear tore through his insides, and--

Yeah. He probably didn’t want to die. He just wanted to be dead.

“Drake, you can barely drive,” Damian said testily, glaring at Tim.

“Sorry, you’re ten,” Tim responded. He managed to turn the wheel to go down another street, and he realized snow was falling softly. He shivered a little, feeling very cold.

And Damian must be cold too, his arms crossed over his chest like that in spite of the bandages. Tim reached to blast the heat, but found it was already turned on as high as it would go. 

Well, they did have a setting for extreme cold issues. He flipped the switch that would turn on what Dick had once compared to Superman’s heat vision in terms of heating up the vehicle.

Damian shivered, seeming grateful but unwilling to say so.

“So. Where do we go?” Tim felt like, between the two of them, it should be a question already answered. But somehow, they couldn’t come up with something.

“We go to Cain. She would not be tainted by the ugly scheme,” Damian decided, and his greenish eyes flicked over to Tim. “You know how to find her.”

It was almost a challenge, and not really a question.

Tim was not certain. But he wasn’t about to say so. “Yeah. I can find her.”

Cass was probably safe. She was hard to influence, and Tim knew she would never hurt him. Maybe get distant, but never harm him. 

Cass was a pillar, immoveable in what mattered to her.

Damian shifted in his seat, seeming to relax some with the heat. It was almost warm enough, in Tim’s mind. He wished there was a higher setting. He could just feel the heat on the periphery of his skin. It was like a gentle tickle that just wouldn’t reach deeper.

The Batmobile would run out of gas eventually. Tim knew that, knew that he had to figure out where they were going. He certainly didn’t have his wallet with him, nor any other means of paying for gas.

Given Damian’s clothes, a set of hospital PJ’s, he didn’t have any either.

They were a sight, he supposed. He’d have to formulate an explanation for Cass that didn’t make her call Alfred or Babs on sight.

Though, she wasn’t prone to that, he supposed.

Cass kept a pretty level head.

He worked out to head towards the last known safehouse that Cass had been in. One not far from Bludhaven. The coordinates were entered in, and he put the Batmobile on autopilot. His hands dropped from the steering wheel, aching a little at the wrists.

Damian was watching him through suspicious eyes. Not much of a surprise there.

“What?”

“Nothing, Drake.”

It was a rather sharp response, and Damian looked almost like a hedgehog, curled in on itself. He looked kind of small, actually. And his face was kind of red.

“Are you cold?” Tim asked this partly because he still felt kind of cold, but he wasn’t so sure Damian was cold. What if the demon spawn had a fever? He was pretty sure that would not be good.

“What?” Damian said this like he was crazy. “No, I’m not cold, Drake.”

Tim shrugged it off. If he wasn’t cold, he didn’t have a fever, right? So, it was fine.

A thought occurred to Tim, a good check to see who was in reality and who wasn’t. “Damian. Do I have a spleen?”

Damian had a look on his face like he was kind of annoyed at being asked dumb questions. “No, you don’t have a spleen, or do you not remember, Drake? If you don’t believe me, you have a scar.” Damian rolled his eyes.

Tim rolled up his shirt, and sure enough, there was a scar.

Well. That kind of settled that his memories were correct, and that Damian also remembered things correctly. If everything hadn’t happened as he thought it did, there was little chance of him losing his spleen.

What other circumstances could lead to that, after all?

It was a far more common loss in sports situations such as football, he believed, or extreme survival, perhaps. And he remembered losing it because of Ra’s--

He turned to look at Damian. “Did Ra’s try to kill you?”

Damian’s eyes flicked suspiciously to him. “How is that your business, Drake?”

“Because I think he’s trying to kill me too. Or get me to kill myself, maybe. And it’s all tied up in Bruce...” his voice trailed off, remembering the curt dismissal. Being told he should just die.

No. Maybe Bruce was under some kind of control too. That would explain it.

Damian seemed willing to let some information out. “I believe it’s the case. Him, the League, my mother...several other people.”

Damian frowned at the glovebox. His eyes seemed wet, somehow, but angry.

“It’s all a trick. They’ve been mind controlled, I think—our family,” Tim said, “Somehow, not us. Maybe we’re the targets. Maybe your grandfather wants something from us—maybe he wants you, and needs me out of the way.”

Damian shuddered, which told Tim he might have hit the nail on the head.

“He wants my body. And everyone wants him to have it,” Damian said softly. He wasn’t looking at Tim.

“And I’m the only one unaffected by the mind control, so he’d have to get rid of me so no one else would catch on,” Tim said, realizing what was truly going on.

Well, obviously he couldn’t let Ra’s have Damian’s body. He was a kid, after all, even if he was Damian.

And no one really deserved to have their body taken over like that. To be, in essence, killed.

“Cass will be able to help us. She wouldn’t be easily tricked by this.” Tim sounded more confident than he felt, maybe. He still felt so cold. He still wanted to just sleep forever. But he had to hold on, at least to protect Damian, save his brothers, save Bruce.

If he could do that, then maybe he would lie down and just sleep.

But he had something to do first.

The Batmobile had a small distance to cover, and he could see Damian slowly drifting off. He stayed awake, though.

He was pretty sure if he went to sleep, he wouldn’t want to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on a trip.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Damian find Cass.

Cass had a number of safehouses throughout Gotham and elsewhere. Tim didn't know if Dick and Jason and Barbara would know he'd go to her, but it was the best shot they had right now.

Cass's mind didn't work the same way, and that meant she would probably not be so easily influenced. He hoped. He really, really hoped.

His mind still felt a bit like a sludge of gray, but he didn't want Damian to die, at least.

Him...he was still a little hazy on that. 

He knew he needed to stay alive to save Damian. That much was obvious. Dying would be playing into their hands, since they might want that. 

And yet...he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it wasn't them at all. It was him. He knew it was time, even if it had been short.

He knew, somewhere in his head, that he was right.

Damian's cheeks were flushed as they pulled into the snowy slush in an alley outside Cass's safehouse. He looked almost cranky, and his teeth bared when Tim put a hand on his forehead. Very warm.

"Are you cold?"

Damian gave him an incredulous look. "No, I am not cold, Drake."

Well. That meant a fever was unlikely, though it was still slightly chilly in the car, so perhaps Damian was wearing too many clothes or somesuch. Tim used his cuffed hands to undo both his and Damian's seatbelts, since the other seemed reluctant to do so himself.

Damian was still watching him as he gave the Batmobile the command to open. It was a weird look, something sharp and shady at the same time in his eyes.

"Well?" Tim sighed, too tired to deal with this. "If we're going to talk to Cass, we're going to need to get out of the Batmobile."

"I'm not stupid, Drake," Damian hissed, and clambered out with less than the usual grace.

Tim didn't feel like making a comeback, so he just walked around the Batmobile as it shut. His feet were very cold in the slush, given that he wasn't wearing shoes, but Damian looked colder, teeth chattering. Tim felt he might be rather sick, or suffering the probable blood loss.

Cass’s safehouse was here. It was hidden in what had once been a church, some nondenominational one built back in the eighties and since abandoned. Cass liked the acoustics.

The code was the same, and Tim got in easily. Damian followed after him, still eyeing him weirdly. As soon as he could, Damian turned on the heat and lights, scanning the room for anything suspicious.

Cass was not here, thank goodness, in some ways. They’d have some time to think of how to convince her and to refuel themselves if it turned out she didn’t believe them.

Tim didn’t think they could escape if it turned out she was in on it, but he’d buy Damian time, if he could. He wasn’t totally sure he’d mind dying, but he knew Damian would.

And besides, that would cheat Ra’s the best.

“Where are the medical supplies?” Damian demanded. Tim pointed to the cabinet with the medical symbol, and Damian huffed and got to work on making sure his bandages were in place.

Tim sought out the food. There was cereal, and there were a lot of preserved meats, veggies, fruit, and so on. He felt Cass was probably using this area pretty frequently, and also that she was trying to take very good care of her health and wellbeing.

He bit into an apple. It tasted like...well, it tasted like it wasn’t that great. It was kind of apple tasting, but, it was just okay at best. He didn’t really feel all that hungry.

Damian was looking at him suspiciously still, and he didn’t know what to make of it. He wasn’t sure he cared enough to figure it out, so he just sat down on the nearest soft thing—a couch. It was surprisingly homey here, especially given Cass could easily do without creature comforts.

“How do I know you don’t want to hand me over to them?”

“Because I set you free,” Tim said in a sigh, unable to even be annoyed that Damian thought he’d willingly hand him over to be Ra’s new body. It was just tiring.

Damian snagged jerky from the food stores, eating it with inaccurate, shaking hands. He still looked pale, all things considered. “Good. Because I’d sooner kill you than let you hand me over.”

“Okay,” Tim sighed, figuring that was fair enough. He pulled a blanket on, still shivering in the pajamas, and wondered if Bruce was indeed alive. He had to be somewhere. If it was a conspiracy, then the mind controlled Dick would definitely want him to believe Bruce was dead. Then he couldn’t seek Bruce’s help.

And Bruce probably wasn’t under the control of the League.

At least Tim had some idea of who to seek out after Cass. Bruce probably knew what was going on.

Except.

He had talked to Bruce. And Bruce had told him he could go die.

It didn’t really matter that much, though, because he was probably right. He didn’t _need_ Tim, no one really did, and logically, there was no reason they would. Just a need to be needed didn’t make one needed. And he’d either have to do better, which was unlikely, or he’d have to move on, like always.

Being forgotten was normal enough.

“When Cain gets here, I’m going to hide,” Damian informed Tim. “Right over there.” Tim didn’t even look, but Damian continued. “If she’s on our side, you must signal me. If not, you must also signal me. You could say perhaps something Grayson...well, you could something about coffee if she’s on our side, and cereal if she’s not. Those should be simple enough for you.”

“Can do,” Tim sighed.

Not even coffee could probably wake him up now.

Damian frowned at him, but shuffled away. Maybe to hide, maybe to eat, maybe to use the toilet. Tim wasn’t certain, and all his adrenaline was gone and it was hard to make himself move to find out.

Then the window creaked, and he managed to turn his head. 

Cass was there, and she immediately slipped off her mask, tilting her head at him. Her brown eyes were questioning, her lips pursed. “Hurt?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, and then, pushed himself into asking actual questions. “Have you heard from Dick or Babs lately?”

Cass shook her head. “Been gone. In Hong Kong.” Her eyebrows crinkled more, looking at him closer. “Why?”

“They’re under mind control,” Tim related carefully, “They think both Damian and I have gone insane. But I think—I am very sure that Ra’s is behind this. Damian said that he’s after his body, like before, and he’s somehow tricked Dick, Jason, and Babs into helping him.”

Cass nodded slowly. “I see.”

See what, though? That unsettled Tim a little bit, honestly. “Cass, I’m serious. Something is very wrong here.”

He was searching her face, looking for signs of disbelief.

“I know you’re not lying,” Cass confirmed, carefully enunciated. “But you are very cold. Do you want coffee?”

It was a bit bizarre, but Tim confirmed, “Yes.”

He shouldn’t signal to Damian yet. He didn’t know for certain. 

Cass got to making it, stripping off her uniform as she went, and pulling on some leggings to go with her sports bra. She had a steaming cup ready very quickly, but was moving slowly, as if very aware of the fact Tim was watching her every move.

He didn’t want her to call them here, and she just might.

She carefully handed him the cup of coffee, looking into his eyes.

But she said nothing, settling into the other chair and sipping from her own cup. She did not like coffee, but it seemed she was drinking it for companionship’s sake.

“Damian can come out,” she said softly. She gestured with her chin towards a blankish wall.

Tim wasn’t sure. “You won’t tell them we’re here?”

“No.”

“Damian, we’re having coffee.”

And Damian came out, looking mildly disgusted at Tim’s signaling. Still, he hung back, watching Cass suspiciously.

Tim was relaxing a little bit, sipping at his coffee. Then he caught Cass looking at him apologetically. “Cass? Is something wrong?”

“I already told them,” Cass said, her expression looking almost torn between wishing she hadn’t and being sure she’d been right in doing so. 

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's an update after eons of inactivity on this story? *cringe*
> 
> Sorry, kinda on an updating/fanficcing binge. I've been sick for like a month, so I've missed all the fanfic writing because I'd wear myself out walking to the truck outside and back. *headdesk* 
> 
> Hope this chapter makes sense!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Damian attempt escape from Cass. Things are still not adding up for Tim, however...

They were coming.

The realization managed to strike Damian faster than Tim, it seemed, as the little gremlin was pulling him up by the arm and calling him names.

Cass wasn’t stopping them, though her eyes were very sad. Maybe she didn’t care to stop them, not for real. Maybe she thought they would be better off with Tim gone, and wasn’t sure if losing Damian as well was a worthy sacrifice.

He...wasn’t too shocked, honestly, and if hadn’t been for the fact he knew Damian’s life was at stake, maybe he would have let them come and get him.

As it was, though, he had to keep Damian alive, and so he leapt for the exit along with Damian. Cass still made no move to stop them—and it turned out, for good reason. The window would not open. He could feel the faint hum of the mechanism keeping it closed.

“Door,” he murmured to Damian, who was already yanking them both towards the proper entrance. It would take longer to find the vehicle they’d stolen, but better than not getting out at all.

“Please don’t leave,” Cass said, watching them still. She wasn’t creepy like in some movie, but at the same time, Tim knew he couldn’t give in. She might even think she was doing the right thing, but she wasn’t.

“Sorry,” he murmured, as Damian yanked them both to the door. The knob twisted in his hands, still cuffed together, and the tired thought occurred that he should have made Damian pick or break the cuffs. Something.

The responsibility of protecting Damian, however, was sort of waking him back up. He had to figure out how they were going to get away should Cass decide to actively intervene in their escape.

But he flung the door open with no issue.

“Please stay,” Cass said again, not moving from the spot.

“Cass, we can’t,” Tim returned, as Damian hooked a shaky hand in his cuffs (the little bastard) and yanked him in the direction of the exit, seemingly near hysteria at Tim’s taking time of any kind to talk to Cass. Damian didn’t seemed to realize how easily Cass could stop them if she chose.

“You’re cold,” Cass said. 

“It _is_ cold,” Tim said, as they cut round the corner and Cass disappeared from view. And shivered a little as they stepped into the chilly foyer, a place that still had the shelves for religious materials.

Damian yanked him along at a fast clip, words suddenly pouring from his mouth.

“We have to get to the Batmobile—you’re driving, get your feet moving!”

Tim did so, bare feet very cold. He winced as it seemed like he stepped on something, but shrugged it off.

Damian shouted at the shiny black car to open up, and it did—he clearly remembered the codes. That was good; Tim was not quite remembering them. Damian shoved him into the driver’s seat, and then clambered over him, shouting at him to drive.

And not a moment too soon—Tim could see the black outline of a descending Batman, and his heart leapt into his throat—Bruce? _Bruce_ was here, he was alive--

“Tim, get out of the car!”

It was Dick’s voice, and there was another figure appearing, one also in a black cape. It couldn’t be Cass, and it couldn’t be Barbara, and if Dick was Batman, it wasn’t Bruce--

But the disappointment was enough to kickstart Tim into slamming his foot on the gas as the door clicked shut all the way.

He could hear the screech of tires and Damian, who had apparently not expected that jolt. He was rattled through the vehicle, still very pale.

They left all well behind, and now, there was a very single-minded focus taking over Tim’s attention: not hitting anyone or anything.

It was like they loomed up out of nowhere, only for Tim to swerve just in time from their pale, illuminated forms in the Batmobile’s headlights. He had no desire to hit anyone or anything.

Damian’s screeching cut through his focus, and he realized the boy was screaming at him.

That, it would seem, was because he was headed for a very closed bridge. But this Batmobile had the capability to handle water, should they need to, even if it wasn’t an ideal submarine.

So Tim drove it that away anyway, as Damian screamed, “I don’t want to die!”

They hit the water. Damian wasn’t buckled, so Tim had swung his body to cushion the kid—he wasn’t buckled either.

That turned out to be a painful move, and he mostly remembered seeing stars and hearing Damian cry out.

–

He woke to frantic shaking. 

And Damian’s tear-stained face, and he was suddenly reminded that Damian was ten. “Drake, I am going to kill you! You almost killed us!”

He looked around at the dark water, cut through by their headlights. The car was slowly moving. “...we’re fine--”

“Just because you wish you were dead, doesn’t mean I want to go with you!” Damian positively wailed at him.

And that was about when a feeling sort of painfully stirred in Tim’s chest. He honestly could have chosen not to go in the river. Why in god’s name had he chosen that?

The potential answer was unsettling, and it was then that he realized Damian had every right to be so upset.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Damian punched him. That _hurt_ , and Tim could already feel his lip swelling and the blood in his mouth.

“I apologize,” Tim said, bringing up his arms to block, “I mean it. I won’t do it again.”

“I should make you drown,” Damian accused, failing to fight the tears and sniffling. It was impossible to deny how frightened he’d been, and that made Tim’s eyes start to sting too.

It was strange. They weren’t close, and yet, the guilt at having risked Damian’s life was heavy. It was fine for him to gamble with his own, Tim figured, but not Damian’s. And he forgot. He managed to forget that.

Damian punched him again, and then clambered into the back seat. “If you can be competent for even one instant, get us out of this godforsaken river.”

“Can do,” Tim murmured, keeping his eyes front to hide his guilt. 

Why did he do that?

He wasn’t really sure.

As it was, it was a bit until they’d reach a good exit point, so he sent the thing burbling along. He didn’t know if he could apologize enough, even if there was a stubborn element in his head that kept insisting he shouldn’t have to.

It was _Damian._ They were even now, really.

And yet, somehow, he knew that was wrong.

He needed to do better if he was going to keep Damian alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally updated this. I apologize for the delay--sometimes it's harder to work on than others due to the subject material.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no place like home...or at least, Tim and Damian are on their way to Kansas.

The river was quiet. The car was well-insulated from the rush of the river, and it didn’t take long to find a point they could leave it.

There was a graded slope in a worse part of Gotham, and the Batmobile slowly trundled up it, dripping water that was sure to freeze soon all along the slope. Tim parked it in a hard to see spot just a bit before the road itself, sighing.

He really wished he could just go to sleep and not wake up. 

Damian looked like he would never sleep again, though. His hands were gripping the door handle, and his eyes were sharp as he watched Tim.

“Where will we go now?” Damian demanded, and Tim almost wished there wasn’t anywhere _to_ go.

But he had to protect Damian, so he couldn’t afford to think that way. And he knew now was the time to make use of the fact he wasn’t Batman and he had friends. 

“We’re going to Smallville,” he said softly, shifting the car into gear.

He was pretty sure they had enough gas to do that; the Batmobile was both fuel efficient and full of fuel. You wouldn’t want to run out of it during a chase or while fleeing from an attacker. So, all the way to Kansas was feasible.

And if not…

They’d figure something out. Tim would figure something out, even if it was carjacking.

He glanced over at Damian, and a new determination came over him. He was a kid, and he didn’t deserve what Ra’s and all had planned for him. And only he could protect him at this point. If Bruce weren’t out of his mind, he would want it this way.

But Bruce was alive. He was alive, in spite of what they were telling him. He was just equally affected by the mind control that was harming the others. He was _alive._

All Tim could think of right then was Conner. That even if Tim couldn’t stop them from taking Damian, Conner could, and Conner could get help from the others. Others who wouldn’t think he was automatically crazy or something. If he had Conner, then people would believe him, and Damian as well.

“Do you know someone in Smallville?” Damian grumbled, sounding put out about going to somewhere in Kansas.

Tim fixed a look on him, deadpanning, “No, I just hear the weather is nice this time of year.”

Damian glared at him. “If this goes anything like Cain--”

“It won’t. It can’t,” Tim assured him. He knew he and Cass sometimes had differing opinions on how things needed to be, but Conner would never do that to him. Never.

He wouldn’t even if he might think Tim was going crazy—which he wouldn’t. Which was something Tim couldn’t put enough value on right that moment.

Conner was his friend—his best friend. He wasn’t some patronizing relative.

And in the silence during the drive, Tim found a slight solace in thinking of Conner and how good it would be to be with an actual friend.

–

The Batmobile did not have a toilet. Furthermore, Damian was hungry and the Batmobile didn’t seem to have as much gas as Tim had thought it did.

This led to the rather embarrassing argument and then conclusion that they actually did have to stop at a gas station. Fortunately, Damian had found a stash of money, in physical cash that was likely not easily traced, in a compartment. It made sense—one couldn’t be sure when one might need actual physical money. Bruce liked to plan ahead.

He had that in common with Tim.

As they got ready to go in, Damian had picked Tim’s cuffs and gotten them off, and they’d done their best to look less like mental hospital escapees and more like normal brothers out on a jaunt. Or, at least, they’d tried. There was no looking normal when one was in a Batmobile.

They wore sunglasses and baseball caps, but Tim had no doubt that Oracle’s search would figure them out. Which was why he’d gone out of their path, the entirely wrong direction, to get gas.

They both went inside the tiny gas station store. Right then, it was the ass-crack of dawn, or at least, it felt like it to Tim. He offered the dozey-looking twenty-something man three twenties for gas, and then got himself a cheap coffee. Maybe it would help him keep on task and feel less cold. 

Damian had gone to use the restroom.

The cashier asked which number he wanted, and he told him station 3. Then the cashier looked out the window, and his eyes widened.

“That’s a wicked car you got there,” he said, a bit slowly for Tim’s liking.

“Yeah,” Tim said, “I wanted it to look almost like the Batmobile.”

This made the cashier pause, like that had been an unexpected response. Finally, he nodded. “Cool. Wherever you got the details done, they did good. Bet it cost a fuck ton, though.”

“You have no idea,” Tim said, “But it was worth it to live off of ramen for a while.”

He seemed to have said the right things, and as he got a box of donuts and then some cheap jerky, he felt like he’d likely allayed the cashier’s suspicions.

They weren’t in Gotham, after all; they were in rural Ohio.

At worst, so far, it seemed like they were getting looks for being rich snobs more than for seeming like they could be related to Batman somehow.

That was the nice thing about getting far away from Gotham.

Damian joined him as he pumping gas. “Well? Aren’t you done yet?”

“No?” Tim looked over at him in bemusement. “It takes time to pump gas, not that you’d know.”

“I am very knowledgeable, for your information,” Damian sniped. “I just would prefer not to be out in the open like this, or to stay in one place for so long. It seems...foolish.”

Tim had to agree on that. If they stayed in this spot for too long, either Ra’s or their family or both might come knocking. Also, that cashier was looking out the window again, and Tim couldn’t help but feel the man looked suspicious. Also, he was clearly picking up the phone, and now he was talking on it while looking at them.

If Tim’s lip reading was correct, it looked like he might be trying to turn in ‘two kids’ for ‘stealing a car’.

That was not good.

“Get in the car slowly, Damian,” Tim said softly, pretending not to notice what the cashier was up to. He had no license or any other way to prove that he should be in this car and driving around, at least, not on him.

Damian did as he was told, which was a first.

Tim waited for the gas to hit just a bit below the sixty dollars he’d paid, and then turned it off. A glance showed that the cashier was starting to get agitated, and he was saying something along the lines of, ‘I’ll slow them down, they’re about to leave’.

So Tim put the pump back like any normal human would, and then slid into the car. The cashier started to say something, as he opened the door to the store, but Tim pretended he hadn’t seen or heard him and took off at a very normal speed, thank you.

That cashier was not about to jump in front of or on the car to stop them.

He could see the man shaking his head in the rearview mirror, a look of, ‘the things I put up with’ on his face.

At least that meant he wasn’t an agent of Ra’s al Ghul, just a concerned citizen.

Tim sped up as they got onto the highway, and took several zig-zagging routes to get back on track to Kansas.

_We’re coming, Conner,_ he thought, _I hope you’re ready for a royal mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this is satisfactory. I've been trying to get back into the swing of writing fanfic regularly.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you think we have enough cash for another vehicle?”

Tim looked over at Damian, surprised by the question. “Maybe? Depends. Why?”

Damian huffed at him, like it was obvious. “Because the Batmobile clearly doesn’t blend in in our circumstances. Because a rusty pickup truck or a little car like I’ve seen on the road will blend in in our current circumstances. Because the Batmobile is not inconspicuous, at all. And because it might be easier for our supposed family to find us in the Batmobile.”

The idea of ditching the Batmobile made Tim weirdly uncomfortable.

He couldn’t quite name why, but it felt like they needed the Batmobile, like it tethered them to some reality. Like without it, he wouldn’t be sure who they were or where they were going.

“Drake. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tim murmured, not wanting to admit he didn’t want to part with the Batmobile when he couldn’t summon reasons why. Then he hit on one. “Other vehicles don’t have weapons, and we don’t have much with us. If anything, honestly.”

“There are batarangs and a couple of other things we can use that we can take with us,” Damian insisted. “Where are we going that you don’t think we can get help?”

“...Conner,” Tim admitted, knowing that Superboy was not exactly unlikely to be helpful in protecting them.

Damian was staring at him like he was crazy. “Who?”

“Superboy,” Tim clarified.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Damian asked, brow wrinkled.

“Yes. A very close friend,” Tim said, “And he’d never...he’d never betray us.”

Damian seemed unsure at this, but he stayed quiet. He seemed thoughtful, eyes on the dashboard in front of him. Like he was trying to determine something within his own head.

Tim put it aside, hoping silence meant he could keep the Batmobile. Which was a ridiculous thought to have, now that he thought about it. It did make them easier to spot...but he was hoping not to get caught, he wasn’t keeping it so they would be visible. Obviously. That would be near suicidal. 

Which he wasn’t.

Which he would never get Damian caught up in.

If he was, anyway, which he wasn’t.

He found he was chewing on his lip, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. His main goal had to be protecting Damian, and it was true that finding an old pickup or something would help blend in—even if it wasn’t great protection. What if Ra’s sent his ninjas? They’d never be able to fight them off in the states they were in.

So the Batmobile made sense. It totally did.

At least, it would until he pulled up at a country farmhouse with it.

For once, he realized, he should go with Damian’s instincts on this. It made him want to face plant into the steering wheel, but he restrained himself.

“Okay. Let’s find a car.”

Damian seemed to cautiously perk up at that, nodding. He seemed to double check that Tim wasn’t lying, and then say, “I saw a beat up pickup truck back there a bit, at five thousand dollars. It looked like it would run.”

Tim turned around, sighing. He honestly wasn’t sure that was a good deal, and realized he didn’t have much of a sense of how much a standard vehicle ought to cost.

–

Passing himself off as eighteen was not as hard as he’d expected. He had a fake ID to prove it, but it wasn’t asked for. The older man just accepted him at face value, and sold over the truck. Apparently, cash spoke better than proof of age.

He signed over the title to the truck as well, informing them they had 30 days to finish the transfer with the state of Ohio.

Then they were on their way.

The thing was in good shape, and rumbled along the road. They’d managed to pick up some clothes as well, and Damian looked weird in an oversized hoodie and jeans, arms crossed over his chest.

Tim looked weirder in flannel and a thick jacket, one which Damian had weirdly insisted on.

The boots looked even weirder, but Damian insisted it was clearly a necessity to blend in. They were heavy duty work boots, and Tim had to agree that they would hold up.

And then Damian shoved a thick yarn hat on Tim’s head, and declared they had all they needed.

They’d left the Batmobile hidden, a bit off the path but not too far. It would only be a matter of time until it was found, but Tim hoped it would be a longer time than not.

He was still cold in the truck, even with the heat on full blast, but with their cups of coffee in the cupholders, it was almost comfortable.

It was several more hours on the road that led them to a gas station, and it was then that Tim realized exactly how right Damian had been.

Literally no one was watching them as they trudged in to use the bathroom, buy food, or get gas. No one asked questions, and no one seemed especially concerned by them. 

_They blended in._

The only time any attention was paid was when Tim paid for things, and that was from the cashier, who seemed very tired and possibly bored.

As they got back in the truck with the hot sandwiches, Damian finally voiced a complaint.

“Food from gas stations is disgusting.”

“It is,” Tim agreed, eating his sandwich without hesitation.

“But I suppose it’s full of the nutrients we need. Taste does not much matter,” Damian murmured, eating his sandwich. “You can hardly argue that for the potato chips, though, Tim.”

“They’re morale improvement.”

“For you, perhaps,” Damian sniffed.

“Yeah, well, more for me,” Tim replied. He put the back into the cupholder, and began driving.

“Will we make it to this Superboy’s house before you drop of exhaustion?” Damian asked. Surprisingly, it didn’t sound malicious; it sounded like concern for the plan.

“You’re not driving.”

“I am able to drive, and you cannot drive the entire way--”

“If we get pulled over while you’re driving, we’re screwed,” Tim responded. “You can’t bluff your way into somehow appearing to be old enough to drive. Maybe if we end up somewhere that no one will see it’s you driving, but not now.”

Damian seemed stunned, but nodded slowly. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s a more shrewd way to go about it.”

It was silent for a while after that. It was almost comfortable silence.

But it was still so damn cold.

–

Damian did end up taking over driving—it was past midnight, they were in country roads where it seemed like nothing lived, and he promised to wake up Tim immediately to change places if anything happened. 

Tim prayed that nothing happened as he drifted off curled up against the door of the truck. As it was, though, he couldn’t really keep his eyes open.

He wasn’t sure if he would wake up to regret this decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's less dramatic this chapter, I guess. I hope y'all enjoyed it! I've done some travel in a pickup truck through several states, and let me tell you, even though you know folks live around the country roads, it sure doesn't feel like it at night. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Just dealing with a lot of shit, I guess. Hope you like it, there will be a second chapter.
> 
> Also, this reality, things are fairly different between the boys.


End file.
